


rituals

by WannabeMarySue



Series: voltron: coping mechanisms [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Could be perceived as platonic or romantic love, Eyeliner, Fluff, Found Family, Functional Poly Relationship, Mild Angst, Morning Rituals, Multi, This whole fic is about eyeliner, and coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7593946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WannabeMarySue/pseuds/WannabeMarySue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even Coran can figure out how Shiro's bed can fit five people.</p><p>or</p><p>Lance learns about coping mechanisms.</p><p>or</p><p>a gratuitous eyeliner fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	rituals

**Author's Note:**

> guess who wrote this whole fic just to put shiro in eyeliner. this gal! enjoy an introspective study on paladin morning rituals and utter fluff.

  Everyone has their morning rituals.  
  Some are detailed--well-thought out altars to long forgotten Gods in hopes of jigsawing their conscience into being. Allura’s and Lance’s are detailed, though in vastly different ways.

  Hunk painstakingly helped Lance recreate his favorite face creams and lotions when Lance finally accepted that there was no way the Paladins would make it back to Earth anytime soon. Every morning as he hums to himself, half-asleep and swaying, Lance gently works them into his skin, his battle armor (his mask). Reminds himself that he is beautiful, that he can handle whatever those long-forgotten Gods throw his way.

  Allura doesn’t need face creams or make-up or songs for the Heavens. She wakes up, fortifies herself as she works a brush through her mane, pulls the faces of those long-dead through her mind. She doesn’t shed any tears. Her father wouldn’t want her to look back on what she lost and mourn; he would want her to remember the happiness, and look into the future, when she would one day bring that to the rest of the galaxy.  
  She puts on her earrings.  
  She smiles: her mask.

  Keith and Pidge roll out of bed, bags under their eyes, running on three hours of sleep, because their minds can never seem to quite shut off.

  
  Keith has no family.

  
  Pidge misses theirs.

  
  They don’t need sleep. Not when there’s a galaxy to search--protect--explore.

  It’s rare anyone is up before Hunk, unless Pidge has pulled an all-nighter, and they get to watch as, in the early hours of the artificial morning, Hunk bright-eyed and determined, makes breakfast. He works hard to make meals that taste like home, spicy enough to remind Lance of hot Cuban nights, hearty enough to fortify Shiro. Hunk doesn’t need to worry about himself in the morning--he was built to care for others.  
  He didn’t have to be the best fighter, have the best one liners. He didn’t need to be the coolest. Hunk was smart, and most importantly, he had room enough in his heart for the whole galaxy.  
  Every morning he made a little more food: for prisoners freed after years of Galra imprisonment, for planets finally released from slavery.  
Hunk understood the importance of a home-cooked meal and a table big enough to fit the most misfit of families.

  It’s Lance who first sees Shiro’s morning routine.  
  It involves eyeliner, and Lance learns a lot about coping mechanisms.  
Lance had slipped into a hazy twilight during one of the team’s mandatory movie nights. The tragic romance Coran had picked out barely held his attention, so he cuddled up against Shiro’s warm, solid chest and let himself drift. The movie had ended, the lovers dead and broken on the ground, and Shiro lifted Lance carefully, carrying him to his room. But, Lance clung to his leader, loathe to leave the warmth. So, Shiro had taken him to his own bed, because he was just the kind of guy who rolled with Lance’s eccentricities. The whole team had learned to just accept the fact that Lance was more akin to a cuddly octopus than anything else.  
  Lance had woken up the next morning, well-rested, wrapped in cool sheets, drool pooling on his pillow. Shiro wasn’t in bed.  
  The black paladin was standing in front of his mirror, leaning in close, concentrating, his tongue sticking out as he painstakingly lined his eyes with liquid eyeliner. Distantly,   Lance wondered where he had gotten his hands on the make-up. Engrossed, he watched as Shiro perfectly flicked out the ends of each eye, creating his signature thin cat-eye.  
  That morning, Lance forgot his own morning routine.  
  That afternoon, after a rigorous training session, Lance was flopped, half-dead, on the ground. Keith dropped down next to him, soaked with sweat and rubbing at his sore muscles.  
  Lance rolled towards him, propping up his head on Keith’s thigh, and Keith didn’t have the energy to shake him off. They stayed that way for several moments, both of them just catching their breath.  
  Finally, Lance tilted his head to look up at Keith. The red paladin had pulled his hair back into a haphazard ponytail, and his bangs hung limp with sweat.  
  “Wanna hear something that’s going to change your life forever?”  
  Keith glanced down at Lance; he didn’t have enough energy to act incredulous so he just offered up a sarcastic, “Sure, Lance.”  
  “In the mornings,” Lance sweat-streaked face lit up with secret glee, “Shiro puts on eyeliner. And it’s adorable.”  
  Keith would admit to himself, that yes, this information did change his life. But he would never admit that to Lance. Because Lance was an insufferable prick.  
  But that evening, Lance and Keith knocked on Shiro’s room together, slipping into the paladin’s bed and spooning up against him--warm and safe.  
  The next morning Lance and Keith watched together as Shiro put on his eyeliner. This was the first time since they had ended up in space that Keith had slept a full night cycle.

  
  Three nights later found all of the paladins squished together in Shiro’s bed, which had mysteriously continued to grow as more people ended up in it. Pidge was cradled carefully up against Shiro’s chest, Keith curled up around the both of them. Lance was sprawled between Hunk and Shiro.  
  The next morning they all cuddled together, their first late morning in a long time. Eventually, Shiro rolled out of bed, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment to brush his teeth. When he came back out, he had his eyeliner in hand.  
  The other paladins watched, quiet and lazy, as Shiro carefully lined his eyes. He used his human hand, though Pidge suspected that his Galra one would be much more steady.

 Morning rituals set you up to take on the day, whether it be training, battling the Galra, or just waking up and dealing with your own mind. It was the small things that made the best armor. Everyone had their own armor, their own masks. Some of them were beautiful.  
  Shiro’s was beautiful.  
  But, it was breaking.

**Author's Note:**

> comments make the world go round! :)


End file.
